Unexpected Magic
by Lustful Muse
Summary: It is 18th century England and there is no such thing as magic. Hermione lives in a world filled with humans. Or so she thinks. Magic is starting to awaken and Hermione is showing signs of being a witch. Will she be able to hide her secret or have others acquired magic as well?


**Author's Note: This story actually began as an original work of fiction, but when I decided to change the plot and structure, I no longer had any use for this chapter. Rather than scraping it, however, I decided to alter it and post it as a _Harry Potter_ fan fiction. I don't know when or if I'll be continuing this. I have lots of other unfinished stories on my plate and I also want to focus on my goal of becoming a published author.**

**Nevertheless, there are some things you should know before reading this story. There will be no Hogwarts School for Witchcraft or Wizardry (but that could possibly change later on) nor witches or wizards. All the characters are strictly human… or so they think. Magic is awakening in the world and Hermione is showing signs of being a witch, but in 18th century England, she could be burned at the stake. Will she be the only one with powers or will others begin to show signs as well?**

**With that said, let the story begin…**

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><p>I awaken from my nap and for a moment I am disoriented. Branches form a gnarled canopy overhead with sunlight cascading down through the gaps. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I recall how Minerva had asked me to gather lavender this morning. I sit up in search of my basket, pausing as I notice the plants now around me.<p>

There were no flowers here before I laid down.

Vines of white jasmine have taken root near my feet, with a few tendrils curling softly around my ankles. I scramble back to release my legs and feel a tug at my scalp. Reaching up, I pull fragrant sweet peas from my hair. I shake my head violently to remove all the flowers, but only ensnare them further in my dark curls. With a stifled cry, I yank out as many as I can. Petals in shades of pink and purple fall to the ground.

I spot my basket hidden among a cluster of bluebells. Snatching it up, I hold it protectively to my chest. My insides churn with dread as I scan my surroundings.

A rabbit peaks its head out of a burrow and a doe with its mother grazes upon some nearby plants. Other than them, I am alone. Even so, I feel too exposed in the woods. At any moment someone could stumble upon me and my secret. How, then, would I explain this growth of flowers? Would anyone realize that they have appeared because of me?

_Do not panic_, I tell myself, even as my heart thuds in my chest. With deliberate slowness, I force myself to stand, despite the trembling in my legs. A branch falls to the ground and I let out a screech, giving in to my wild desperation to flee. A few stalks of lavender topple from my basket, but I dare not turn around to retrieve them.

As a child, it didn't take long to realize I was different. Not special, the way that Minerva claims. My affinity for nature and the elements is unnatural. Someone could mistaken me for a witch. There have been women who were burned to death before.

Even so, there were times that I've used my abilities. When there was a drought last fall, I knew that I could somehow make the rains come. It was the first time I had purposely tried to change the weather. I had gone outside in the middle of the night, shivering as I willed for it to start raining. The longer I stood there, the more ridiculous I felt.

Finally, there was a tentative drizzle. The first drop that had splashed my cheek was amazing. I threw my hands up, giddy as the rain came down harder. I was so caught up in dancing that I almost didn't see him.

Lord Malfoy was standing at his window, gazing at the fields. I cowered behind a tree, terrified that he had seen me. I was drenched by the time I had the courage to return home. Although he had never said a word about the incident, sometimes I would catch him watching me. Waiting. I try to avoid inciting his suspicions any further.

I reach the edge of the trees and slow down. There is an ornate wooden sign before the bridge, proclaiming this the town of Hogwarts. Sweat begins to gather at the nape of my neck as I realize how full of activity the square is. I attempt to smooth the rumples from my dress, notice the grass stains smeared at the hem, and sigh. There is little I can do about the fabric now.

With a deep breath, I step onto the path. My feet soak up the heat of the cobblestones as I walk. There is a tavern on my right. Boisterous laugher reverberates from inside and I quicken my steps. I jump as a strong hand latches onto my shoulder.

"Hermione," a deep voice croons, "Where are you going in such a rush? The guys and I want you to hang out with us."

More masculine chuckling, as though what Draco had said was humorous. I grit my teeth and shrug his hand off. I take a step forward before he forcibly stops me.

"Do not," he grabs my chin roughly, "walk away when I am talking to you."

Furious blue eyes stare into my own light brown ones. My eyes water from the stench of alcohol on his breath. There was a time when I thought Draco was handsome. Of course, there was also a time when I thought he was kind. All that had changed as Draco got older. I turn my head to the side and do my best to refrain from gagging. Now the only feeling he inspires within me is disgust.

"Is that any way to greet your future husband?" he taunts.

I will myself to remain passive until he drops his hand from my face. There is no way that Lord Malfoy would allow his son to marry me. I am far too beneath their social standing to be considered and for that I am eternally grateful.

Draco glances down at the lavender I am carrying. I shift the basket behind my back as a slow smirk crosses his face.

"Been in the woods again, have you?"

Draco stumbles forward with an outstretched hand. He yanks my dress up and my grimy feet are exposed. Horrified, I try to pull my dress back. He grips the fabric tighter and forces me closer to his body.

"Look at how filthy you are," he says roughly, gazing hungrily at my pale calves. "You should be thrilled that I'm willing to make you my wife."

Heat suffuses my face as I struggle to be free of him. A few people stop to watch our exchange, but quickly glance away when they see me looking at them.

"I would never marry you," I grit out, "no one in their right mind would!"

I catch him raising his hand a moment too late. It strikes the side of my cheek and I stagger back from the blow. My head is throbbing. I swing my arm back and my fist slams into his mouth. My eyes widen as Draco stumbles to the ground. His body is easily twice the girth of mine, but a hot fury pulses through my veins. I cannot believe that Draco had hit me and in public no less!

When I was twelve, Minerva had warned me about letting my emotions overcome me. This was right after I had been sent home from school for fighting. The teacher had seen me shoving another girl, who had then sobbed about how I had attacked her. She was the one who had come up to me as I was reading and had knocked the book from my hands. That would have been easy enough to ignore, but the girl wouldn't leave. She kept teasing me about being adopted. Calling Minerva a witch was the last straw.

Hands grab at me, trying to pull me up. Blinking back my confusion, I glance at my fingers. They are wrapped around Draco's throat as he struggles to pry them off. I jerk back, releasing him, and notice the crowd gathered around us. Draco gets up, eyes darkening in fury. My mouth becomes dry.

Before he can say anything, a hunkering man steps forward. I recognize him. Hagrid had come to Minerva recently seeking medicine for a fever.

"What's going on here?" he asks, glancing from my swollen cheek to Draco's busted lip.

For a moment there is silence. I cast a sidelong glance at Draco, who is rigorously brushing the dirt from his trousers. He clenches his jaw before smiling at the man.

"It was just a misunderstanding," Draco responds. His tone is light, almost jovial. The same one his father uses while making speeches in the town square. The kind of voice that can coax a person into believing him, no matter what despicable things he has to say.

Hagrid stares at me and I do my best to lift my mouth into a smile. It is more like a baring of teeth. I return my gaze to the ground instead.

"We don't want any trouble here," his words are like a plea and I cannot help but notice the anxious faces of those around me.

Lord Malfoy owns this land and all the town buildings. This harsh reality is what keeps people from complaining about his son.

Draco tilts his head in assent, but keeps his eyes fixed on me. In a collective exhale, the crowd disperses. I grab my basket, intent on leaving too, but Draco wraps an arm around my shoulders. The embrace could almost be called intimate, were it not for the way his hands grip me like a vise. This time no one intervenes.

"Never do that again," he rumbles in my ear. "You will regret this humiliation."

My eyes are clenched shut as I hear him walk away. There is a bitter, heaviness within me. I am unsure of whether I want to scream or cry. Instead I concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other, doing so until I reach the tiny cottage at the end of the lane.

The tension inside me eases at the sight of home. Though we are the furthest from the town square, I have come to value our seclusion. With the knowledge that Minerva has in various arts, there is truly little reason to ever venture beyond our area.

Lifting the rusted latch, I open the picket gate. A bell jingles and I spot Minerva peeking her head through the window pane. The door opens a moment later.

Immediately her eyes narrow in on my bruise.

"How did you get that?" she asks. Her voice remains calm, but I can detect the underlying note of menace.

I spread a cloth over our cedar wood table, carefully laying the lavender out to dry. The dark wave of my hair falls across my swollen cheek. I leave it there and give a casual shrug of my shoulders.

Minerva sighs and just like that the tension expels from the room. My mind races to think of some excuse to give, anything that could reassure her. She gestures for me to sit.

"I must have bumped into something while in the woods," I explain. "Nothing serious, I hardly feel it."

The window in the kitchen is lined with little pots. Minerva goes to the aloe plant and snaps off a spiny leaf. I remain still as she squeezes some pulp onto her finger and applies it to my swollen cheek. She massages it onto my skin in a soft, circular motion.

"The bruising should go down within a few days," she says, wiping her hands on a nearby rag.

I watch as Minerva tends to her plants, noting the careful way she pours water into each pot. Her hands, which have cared for me all my life, have become wrinkled with age. Sunlight streams in through the window, making her graying hair seem almost golden. The sight of her sends a sharp pain to my chest. She is the only family I have.

A knock on the door startles me from my reverie. Minerva opens it and Ginny comes rushing in, still dressed in an apron streaked with flour.

"I came as soon as I heard," she pauses, no doubt taking in the sight of my face. Her eyes flicker to Minerva, who goes to the front yard and shuts the door, offering us some privacy.

"Did Draco really do that to you?" Ginny whispers. "People said that you two were arguing, but I can't believe he hit you!"

"Do you still think I should marry him?" I ask sardonically.

Only Ginny knows of my childhood crush on Draco. Though it had changed to loathing over the years, she had remained adamant that we'd eventually get married. Obviously, she no longer harbors such foolish sentiments. Draco is not fit to marry anyone.

"Let's skip the celebration tonight," Ginny says, her expression a mixture of anger and defiance. Her freckles stand out in sharp contrast to her skin. She fiddles with the white cap on her head, waiting for me to respond.

Lord Malfoy hosts a banquet every year in recognition of our town's establishment, but mostly so that people acknowledge his family's own rise to power. I have attended these gatherings for the last seventeen years, ever since Minerva had taken me in as a baby. Suffice to say, there is nothing I would miss by skipping it.

I am tempted to take Ginny up on her offer, but Minerva returns and my response stills upon my tongue. I had promised to accompany her to the event. It would be dangerous for her to go alone. Her bouts of amnesia have been increasing in frequency.

"Isn't your father making the desserts for tonight?" I ask Ginny. "I don't think he would permit you to stay home."

Her face reddens at my words, but she decides to plow on.

"I don't see why I need to prepare any more. Father and I spent all morning baking!"

I uncurl the rag Ginny has bunched in her hand and point to my bruise. Ginny scowls and looks away.

"Don't let this be the reason you deny your family coin. Neither of us have the luxury of refusing Lord Malfoy, not when doing so could impoverish our families."

Sighing in defeat, Ginny gets up and retrieves her cap.

"Did it at least hurt?" she asks, pausing at the door. Minerva is at the hearth stirring something in a pot, but I can feel her eyes on me.

"I don't think he'll bother me anytime soon," I respond. "His pride is a fragile thing. It should be weeks before it recovers."

With a smirk, Ginny leaves just as quickly as she came. The door closes and Minerva raises an eyebrow at me.

"I'll be outside," I tell her, slipping quickly out the back door just as I see Minerva shaking her head. I move past the shelf where Minerva stores her garden tools, grabbing the bucket where I keep my toiletries. Although we have a wooden wash basin, there is also a creek that runs alongside our house.

With the sun positioned at an angle in the sky, I can just make out my reflection on the water's surface. I scowl as I gingerly touch my swollen cheek. The clouds darken overhead and I can no longer see myself clearly. But one thing is for certain. Draco and I will always be enemies.

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><p><strong>Author's Note: Please review!<strong>


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